- What if the world told you 'men never change'. Would you still believe in redemption?
- What if your whole life is shrouded in secrecy. Would you shed your mask for one person anyway?
- What if an avatar intrigued you. Could you fall in love with...
"Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life."- Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
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Zain
"I am so proud of you."
Those were the words I never tired of saying out loud to my son. Today they were especially poignant as he climbed onto the brand new bike without training wheels and showed off his newly learned skills on the short driveway outside my house.
"Look at me," he squealed as he took a turn, nearly toppled over, but corrected himself quickly.
"I am, Rayaan. I am looking. And I'm so incredibly proud of you, beta," I declared to my son once again as he got off the bike and ran towards me, his arms reaching out, a broad grin lighting up his face.
"I told you, Zain Baba. I can ride a bike. Osman Baba taught me," he said and jumped straight into my outstretched arms. His little ones spread around my waist and his chubby hands gripped my shirt just before I lifted him off the ground.
In dizzying circles, we spun, laughter echoing through the mid-afternoon air, infused with the pure and infectious joy of my son. The world twirled around us, trees merging into a blur, flower beds transforming into a rainbow of colors. Yet, we continued to spin until we tumbled into a heap of happiness on the soft grass.
"Again," he yelled, still barely able to stand. I gave him a minute and we were at again.
These were the moments I lived for. Graciously granted to me by my ex-wife, Rayaan's mother whenever she visited Karachi with my cousin, Osman and their daughter, three-years-old Wafiya. She had no legal obligation to let me spend even a second with him, since Osman and her had full custody of Rayaan. Though, whether it was pity on me, or sympathy with my mother who yearned for her only grandchild, Sanam had always made it a point to send Rayaan over.
For that I would always be grateful to her, even if her kindness only made my guilt more pronounced. Yet, the precious moments spent with Rayaan were a balm for my soul. In those fleeting hours, the laughter, the games, and the innocence of it all, let me temporarily escape the weight of remorse that clung to me like a shadow still.
Its true what they say, there is no refuge from memory or remorse. Memory of my sins in a life gone by, never to be reclaimed, and remorse for the pain I had inflicted. Repentance was the only path forward, I knew that. The prison sentence, the years of striving to become the opposite of who I was, had all been an attempt to stay on that path.
Yet, there are somethings that never leave you. With permanent black ink they are written into your life's story, forever.
"Zain Baba, look butterfly," Rayaan pointed at the flying creature then scrambled out of my lap to catch it.
"Don't hurt it," I instinctively cautioned.
Don't ever hurt anyone - like your father did, my conscience whispered.
